when in doubt (trust a wizard to set everything right)
by Elenothar
Summary: All hobbits have the name of their soulmate written on their wrists. Too bad there's no one in the Shire called Thorin Oakenshield. (And too bad Thorin doesn't seem to be in the least interested by Bilbo once they do meet.)


Bilbo Baggins of the Shire was a well-respected hobbit, as normal as could be wished since there was nothing odd at all about him. Any oddities he might have had, he had, in fact, buried or done away with long ago – after all what was the point of being odd in the Shire? – except for one thing, one thing he'd never been able to change.

All Hobbits bore the name of their intended soul mate on the inside of their left wrist and Bilbo was no exception. The _name_ on his wrist, however, was a different story. Thorin Oakenshield. Not a very Hobbity name at all, everyone agreed, usually in hushed whispers when they thought Bilbo wasn't listening. Equally strange was the flowing, bold script of such a deep blue it nearly seemed black, very different from the usual small and neat, though sometimes playful hobbit writing.

It didn't use to bother Bilbo, especially when he was still in his tweens, but rather fuelled his, by hobbit standards, rambunctious (or misspent, as most adult hobbits kept telling him) years spent tramping all about the Shire and exploring as many nooks and crannies as he could find, often pretending to meet a mysterious stranger who would sweep him off his feet.

As the years continued on and Bilbo began to realize that finding a Thorin in the Shire seemed nigh impossible (much less one of an Oakenshield family), resignation and acceptance of a life spent alone slowly wormed their way into his heart. Youthful fantasies had long been replaced by bitterness. No other hobbit would enter a relationship with someone whose name wasn't inked on their wrists, so Bilbo had to get used to living alone, building himself a comfortable life he could – on most days – be content with.

And then Gandalf the Grey arrived on his doorstep, a company of dwarves in his wake, and poor Bilbo's life was abruptly (and rather violently if you asked him) turned upside down. The horde of dwarves pillaging his pantry and upsetting his carefully established routine was bad enough, but nothing compared to the feeling that greeted him upon opening the door a fifth time that evening. Even before Gandalf introduced this last dwarf, tall and imposing, a shock of recognition ran through his body with an almost physical intensity. A single name (Thorin, Thorin, Thorin) reverberated through his mind, leaving him reeling from the sheer force of it.

Somehow he managed to invite the dwarf king in as well, keeping quiet and his head down as the evening's proceedings hastened along. The more Bilbo heard about the dwarves' quest, and, more importantly, about Thorin, the more his heart sank. Some subtle glances had confirmed that dwarves indeed wore no soul mark on their wrists, which left Bilbo rather alone in his knowledge of things that _could_ be, though it now rather appeared that they wouldn't, in fact, come to pass. He couldn't recall ever having heard of a soul mark binding two different species together and soon the sudden horrible suspicion that it really had never intended to be that way either befell the hobbit.

In front of his shadowy corner Gandalf sat, looking surprisingly at home both in the company of twelve dwarves and in a hobbit home. The wizard would probably know, he mused, but immediately decided against bringing the topic up. After all, what could Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King under the Mountain want with him, Bilbo Baggins, a hobbit as normal and, well, _uninteresting_ as they come? He would hardly want Bilbo to be bound to a hobbit for the rest of his possibly long dwarven life. Also kings were usually quite keen on continuing their line and heritage, or so his much beloved books claimed. Whatever fate had intended when gifting (not that he'd seen it as a particularly pleasant gift for a long while and hobbits were quite big on pleasantry) him with this particular soul mark, he realized with bitter certainty that this would never, _could_ never be. Better not to say anything about it at all. Yet he couldn't stop himself from sneaking continued glances at the, admittedly darkly handsome dwarf sat in his dining hall, ignoring the slight tingling in his wrist whenever he did so.

Adding the thought of incineration and all manners of other horrid ways of dying to his already overwrought mind, finally proved too much strain for Bilbo. He fainted.

The next morning all of Bilbo Baggins' normalcy went out the window, when he decided, against all rational thought, to follow the pull of his heart and join the dwarves' quest for their long lost home. Having faced the painful choice between trying to forget that he could've joined his soul mate on his journey for the rest of his life and travelling alongside him without ever telling him the truth, the thought of at least being near Thorin (if that was the only thing he could get, he would take it) had won out. A foolish choice perhaps, and one that left him open for much heart break, but it was _hishishsh__his_ choice – if he could aid Thorin Oakenshield in any way, he would.

And never did his conviction waver, not even when enduring disappointed looks from their leader that cut deeper than Thorin would ever know, not even when having to be careful to always leave his sleeves rolled down to conceal his soul mark, not even when nearly getting killed by brutish and ghastly trolls (though that particular event was a success in that it showed that Thorin cared at least a little for him – enough not to let him be torn by trolls at any rate). It didn't waver when being chased by wargs and orcs, it didn't waver when having to leave the last homely house behind him.

Then their company reached the mountain pass and everything changed. Hardship and bordering contempt from his intended Bilbo could endure, but to hear _You're not one of us, you never have been and you never will be_, to be so completely rejected by the one whose opinion he held dearer than everyone else's, whether he wanted to or not, went too far. Bilbo could only take so much without being shattered.

As his plan to quietly slip away failed and Bofur's sincere regret made his decision to leave even more painful (even if the one he really wanted to tell him to stay would not do so) as he'd come to regard many of the dwarves with fondness, Bilbo was almost glad when the ground beneath him opened up and swallowed him whole.

Bilbo Baggins, normal hobbit of the Shire, would never have taken on a group of orcs and wargs only to try and protect someone who might already be dead. Bilbo Baggins, wearer of the soul mark of Thorin Oakenshield and member of the quest for the Lonely Mountain, would indeed risk his own life against staggering odds to protect the other part of his soul. So he did, without regret.

Perhaps it was the relief at being still alive and over the dratted mountains, or maybe the overwhelming joy of finally having been accepted by Thorin as more than a burden to his quest that finally made him slip up.

The day was unusually warm and Bilbo, who, tasked with cooking dinner for the company, had rummaged around near the fire for quite a while now, was beginning to sweat. Unthinking, he pushed up his shirt sleeves for some respite, only noticing his action when Kíli, whose sharp eyes Bilbo hadn't had a cause to regret yet, called, "What is that on your wrist, Bilbo?"

He was already stepping closer for a better look before Bilbo managed to hide his soul mark again, and judging by the surprised look on his face he'd read Thorin's name on the hobbit's skin.

"Master Baggins?" Kíli asked again, eyes narrowing.

"It's nothing!" he squeaked, eyes nervously darting back and forth between Kíli and the other approaching dwarves. He would have dearly liked to hope that this was all just some dream or nightmare, but it was hard to deny the reality of a lot of stamping, heavy dwarves and Kíli's piercing stare heating his face.

Bilbo took the only course of action, which didn't include complete and utter disaster, he could think of. He ran (though not very far, all the travelling had taught him some essential things after all and it wouldn't do to be gobbled up by some creature or other too far from camp – even if that would get him out of his current predicament rather permanently).

Maybe Bilbo should have been less surprised that it was Thorin who finally came in search of him.

"Gandalf explained," Thorin announced quietly, having found Bilbo sitting under a dark elm tree. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Bilbo, keen hobbit that he was, understood that what he was _really_ asking was '_why didn't you tell me'_ and almost had to snort at the irony of it all.

"Master Oakenshield, could you claim in all honesty that you would not simply have laughed at me had I told you before? You hardly seemed impressed by the useless hobbit burglar Gandalf forced you to take along."

Something very much like guilt swirled in the depths of Thorin's eyes, as he said quietly, "Tis true. I have been very harsh with you." He hesitated, very unlike his usually composed being, then elaborated, "I felt a pull towards you, of a nature and strength I had not encountered before. I did not seek to be entangled in matters of the heart on this dangerous trip."

_And especially not with one as unlikely to survive the journey in the first place as I was – still am; it would be foolish indeed_, Bilbo added mentally. He swallowed once, familiar disappointment rising inside him and averted his gaze. "I understand."

"No," Thorin commanded, voice still quiet, and reached out with one gentle hand to tilt up the hobbit's chin so that their gazes met. "I did not seek them, yet they found me anyway."

Mesmerized by the sincerity in the dwarf king's eyes and the rare beginnings of a smile on his too wise face, Bilbo simply stood still as Thorin bent down and pressed his lips to the hobbit's, tender under that brash exterior, yet still assertive – much like the dwarf in question.

It was everything Bilbo had ever dreamed of, whether openly as a little tyke or secretly when grown up, and yet… and yet it was also different, _more_. The mind's imagination was limited compared to the physical reality of his mate's lips on his own, a warm body pressing against him, two soul made whole.

It was a while before either of the two returned to the anxiously waiting dwarves. When they did re-join the rest of the company gathered around the fire, Thorin and Bilbo were immediately assaulted by a babble of questions, though most were of a happy nature. Gandalf, as ever, looked like he knew exactly what was going on, this time with an added of air of wordless smugness.

Apparently not being familiar with hobbit culture and traditions, many of the dwarves were eager to hear more about this 'soul mark' of his – Fíli and Kíli, usually acknowledged as the most curious of the bunch, helming the effort of getting Bilbo to talk. Bilbo was not ashamed to say that he was far from steadfast enough to deny the two brothers anything when they turned both their pleading faces on him in full force (it would take a heart of stone indeed).

So Bilbo told the tale of the two hobbit ancestors who had signed their names onto each other's skin in a show of devotion, unaware of the magic that simple and loving act would work on the lives of their children and their children and every hobbit in times yet to come, Thorin's warm body next to him a shield between him and the world.

He would long remember the happiness of that night.


End file.
